


The King's Servant

by koakuma_tsuri



Category: Henry V - Shakespeare, Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: Henry has too many names, M/M, mildly smutty, misuse of trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koakuma_tsuri/pseuds/koakuma_tsuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned still isn’t quite sure why he’s even here; why he sneaks onto the King’s estate and watches him ride; why he has come enough times to know the King’s routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King's Servant

Ned stands in the shade of a grand oak tree. The undergrowth around him is thick; even without it, a youth spent sulking in places where no fine gentleman should be assured he knew how to keep unseen. He still isn’t quite sure why he’s even here; why he sneaks onto the King’s estate and watches him ride; why he has come enough times to know the King’s routine. Hal is predictable: he rides the same path and breaks his mount into a gallop at the same point and rides and rides until both horse and rider are sweating. It’s simple, clockwork and never takes more than an hour.

Ned wonders when Hal lost himself. The Hal he knew could never settle for the same old thing; and while rarely pushing great boundaries, always sought new entertainment. Hal never did return to the Boar’s Head after the confrontation with Falstaff there. Ned returned a few nights, thinking perhaps the then-prince would make an appearance, but when the word of Henry’s death broke, he stopped hoping. He had been present at Hal’s coronation, but had not spoken to him since long before then.

He supposes Prince Hal is now dead and the wise young Henry takes his place, but Ned is loath to believe it. He doesn’t know why he hates it. But when he hears the gentle canter of hooves coming closer, he knows he wants to find the truth.

Ned steps out of the brush a few metres ahead, in the King’s path. Surprised, the horse rears but Hal controls her perfectly. Those blue eyes, now more hawkish than Ned had ever seen them, burn a glare straight into him. Lips that he knew as well as his own purse so tightly it must hurt. If Ned were anyone else, he would flee as if that look was the executioner himself.

“Poins?”

He had never heard his voice said with such bitterness, like an accusation of treason, and it stings all the more because he never thought Hal could say it so. To be treated with the same contempt as Falstaff is simply unexpected. Undesired.

“My Lord,” Ned replies and bows respectfully. He knows sense, and knows how to survive. He’s trespassing; disobeying a direct order of the King, and for such, could be killed. _Could be_ , though he hopes Hal is still in that body somewhere. He rises, but the King’s face is just the same.

“What do you want?”

It’s a question not even Ned knows the answer to. All he really knows is that his life without Hal is half-lived, if lived at all. Gone is his friend and partner – it’s like losing a limb. He knows it’s loneliness, and he knows his lips itch with an unholy ache, and his body yearns for company. He wishes he could voice it as such, as he had once been Hal’s confidence, but Ned’s pride stills his tongue. And it’s not something he knows the King would like to hear.

He stares as he thinks, taking in the King’s appearance. He looks every part his father’s son, the rightful heir, fierce and regal. A beard highlights the beautiful angles of his jaw and Ned’s fingers twitch with a need to touch as he had once touched. And whilst he’s distracted, the King hisses and pulls the reigns to walk the horse around him.

“My Lord!” Ned says as soon as the mare’s first hoof leaves the ground. He fears the King suddenly taking off, disappearing and then – later – guards would arrive on Ned’s door. “I wish to talk, my Lord.”

The King turns his head, glowers and replies. “I will not talk to _you_.”

Ned’s hands ball into fists, tight to his side. To be treated like Falstaff, when he was _nothing_ like that old fool. There was no greater insult to be done to him. He had never lied to and had never betrayed Hal.  “I have done you no wrong, my Lord,” Ned says, and try as he might, it still comes through grated teeth. “why turn your back on me?”

The King’s eyes flare, blue becoming a grey as vicious and powerful as the ocean on Yorkshire’s winter coast. “You—”

“I incurred no evil within you, only accompanied you into it.” Ned speaks again, and is surprised by the softness of his tone. He wonders if it’s even audible over the autumn breeze. The horse’s ears flick towards his direction and the King’s furrowed brows smooth for a second.

For that second, Ned believes he’s broken through the King, revealing that Hal truly is there somewhere. He takes a step forwards, and the King angles his head upwards, looking down with caution.

“What do you want, Ned?”

The repeat of the question is softer. Much softer. And the inclusion of his name, warming. But he doesn’t smile. “You abandoned me,” the claim would have sounded pathetic, if his voice was not hard, but yet the tone is gentle as he comes closer still. He reaches out and stroke’s the white horse’s snout.  It sniffs and accepts him. “I thought I meant more to you than that.”

The king sighs and closes his eyes, shielding his expressive eyes. Ned doesn’t like not knowing what’s happening in that head. With this new Hal, he feels especially helpless, and vulnerable.

“What would you have me do? I could not return to the Boar’s Head as much as I could not keep you.”

“I know,” Ned replies and he meets the King’s eyes for a moment. “I simply miss my… friend.”

The King’s eyebrows furrow before a smile works its way onto that face. It’s small, but amused. It’s the smile he always wore when conflicted. “You speak more like a servant now, than my friend, Ned.”

“And you are the King now, my sweet honeyed Lord.”

Finally, the King beams that oh-so-familiar smile. Ned chuckles to himself. He’s stupid for doubting for a moment that Hal was gone. There’s just too much life in that character to ever die.

Then, all too soon, the King turns solemn. “I do not know what you want of me.”

Ned shrugs and moves to smooth the mare’s tousled mane back into waves. “To know you do not hate me… is enough.”

The King’s lips curve upwards and he lowers his head just slightly. There’s no crown adorning it, but the status divide is clear, Ned feels it, but also the echo of intimacy. Such an echo grows as when the King’s eyes meet his again, they’re the same boyish eyes that used to glance at him across the table as an invitation to retire.

“Meet me here tomorrow, at this time.”

And before Ned can reply, the King nudges his mount into action, almost immediately breaking into a gallop towards the castle. Ned watches, slightly bewildered.

 

-

 

Ned half expects the King to arrive with a handful of guards to escort him miles away, if not arrest him. The morning is cold and he shifts restlessly. A mist is thick, making the possibility of seeing the King’s white horse from a distance nearly impossible.

After a while, when his fingers are tingling, he hears the familiar thunder of a gallop that slowly dies down. The mist swirls, offering a glimpse of billowing red – the King’s cape. He’s alone and Ned tries to shed some weight from his shoulders. And yet, he can’t – not knowing whether it is indeed Henry or Hal approaching. He waits anxiously, and as soon as his eyes meet the King’s, they echo a smile. It was his old friend.

“Why is it,” Hal starts immediately when Ned is in ear-shot. His tone is light, but he’s not quite cheerful. Ned turns to him, waiting for the extrapolation. “You always inspire the worst in me?”

Ned gasps faux offense. “My Lord! I have done no such thing!”

“Thieving, troublemaking, deceiving, …” Hal continues to list all their previous adventures as he dismounts his horse and secures the reigns to a tree, enough that the beast can forage. The fact the King remembers all that they have done together pleases Ned. The memories must have been treasured, or else they would have been compiled and forgotten.

Hal even speaks them with nostalgia upon his features, making them as distant as he looked when near sleep. The light of the morning is brighter, but as gentle as the candlelight that used to douse them. Only, the tint is now grey, rather than orange. It’s dreary and solemn, and Ned can’t expect any different.

“…I have tried to be my father’s son, a good king, and yet one glimpse of your face,” Ned stands still as Hal approaches him. One elegant hand rises to his face, tracing the line of his jaw. He falls slack and indulges the King’s touch. Ned would be a fool to refuse, even if his body would let him. Such intimacy is a shock to his senses; he tries to remember to breathe. Hal comes closer still. “and I desire you.”

Ned feels that hand start to pull away, and he grabs it, pressing it into his cheek. “Then have me, dear Lord. You could not have turned your back on pleasure.”

Hal pulls his hand free, frowning. “I am the King now, Edward.”

“You are still a man.” Ned replies flatly. There’s a hint of bitterness that makes the King look at him in the eye. Ned sees a trace of amusement and now it’s his turn to scowl.

“You act like an indignant wife.”

Ned scoffs. “I know. Quite ridiculous. Though I have yet to cry over you.”

A strange expression crosses Hal’s face. It’s halfway between curiosity and vulnerability and takes Ned by surprise. “Would you? Cry over me?”

Ned doesn’t have an answer at hand and shrugs. “I have tried to hate you, for what you did to me – tarring me with the same brush as Sir John and the others. I tried to hate you, but I never could.”

He notices how Hal’s face softens at the growing harshness of his voice; the only thing he feels is a loathing of his own – incomprehensible – weakness. But all is silenced under the touch of the King’s hand on his cheek again. 

“I thought even one association would drag me back. I could not trust myse—”

“No,” Ned interjects sternly. “You don’t trust _me_.”

There comes no denial, and Ned grits he teeth. He feels Hal’s fingers move ever-so-slightly, trying to coerce the sudden tenseness from his muscles. Mentally, he recalls all the tiny gestures Hal had made over the years. From comments that disregarded Ned’s noble birthing and likened him to the peasants they associated with, to glances in post-coital moments of suspicion. He had grown to ignore them, confident in Hal’s mannerisms.

“I never knew your motives,” Hal says. “How was I to know you would not use _us_ as leverage to higher your status?”

“You called me your _friend_.”

“And you were,” Hal says resolutely.

“And now I’m just a servant?”

“You’re more than that, Ned,” Hal all but whispers and his fingers trail down Ned’s jawline and neck to his collarbone, exposed by the collar of his leather jacket. “In a moment of delirium, you could have command of me. That’s why I had to cast you off.”

Ned leans into the touch. The warmth of gloved fingers spreads through his skin. “A feeble excuse, my Lord.”

A tiny smile quirks Hal’s lips, and his eyes focus on his hand as it moves across Ned’s chest. It’s hard for Ned not to move or direct the King, as he would have once, for the time spent apart has made him impatient. He’s eager to assure his place in Hal’s affections again, and briefly he wonders whether or not the King had taken another lover in this way.

But the lust that bubbles up within Hal’s blue eyes is that of a starved man. Ned blinks slowly, opening them just as Hal’s lips touch his. A tender touch tingles, almost burns as they meet completely. Were Ned the submitting type, he would do so now, weak at the knees at the dancing of their tongues. He indulges the King; indulges himself in caressing over wine-red leather. Hal’s body has changed, muscles leaner and tighter from less alcohol and more sporting.

“Sweet Ned,” Hal whispers in his ear, breathing shallow and affected. “A moment of delirium is upon me,”

Ned grins and cards his hand through Hal’s half-tamed curls. He’s about to reply when he feels Hal’s fingers making quick work of the fastenings of his jacket. Feverish kisses press against the skin exposed, proving the King’s words not to be just the metaphor he assumed they were. All Ned can do is grip onto Hal’s shoulders and the storm works up around him. He finds himself walked backwards. His back meets with the trunk of a tree, a stable purchase that allows him to finally press into Hal’s touch and arch his spine without fear of falling.

Slowly, he begins to undress the King. Whilst he’s sure he should perhaps request permission beforehand, there’s no reprimand that sounds as the first few buttons are undone. It’s a hard task to complete when Hal is all over the place, constantly moving his arms around, changing angles and levels as he all but ravishes Ned’s chest. It’s a hard task as the King’s mouth his hot against Ned’s cool flesh, teeth sharp and possessive. Hands push his loose black shirt up to his armpits, and immediately, Hal ducks his head to close his lips around a pert nipple, teasing it to the point Ned groans and pulls him closer.

“My Lord,” Ned says, his voice weak in an attempt to keep quiet. Hal continues toying with the pink nub in his mouth and Ned can feel him smirk. He’s glad that the leather jacket remains between his back and the tree trunk.

When he finally manages to have the King’s jacket open, Hal moves up. His lips are swollen from effort and a handsome contrast to his eyes. Ned searches for a kiss as Hal leans closer with his hips. It’s almost pointless with the codpieces that separate them, but Ned knows what’s there and is certain he can feel heat. “My Lord,” he breathes again.

Hal smiles, wets his lips in a single swipe of his tongue and slides his hands down Ned’s bare chest to his breaches. Ned watches, hungrily, as Hal works. It’s as quick as their trysts always had to be.

Trousers pulled down to his knees, Ned hisses as first cold air swallows his cock, and then Hal closes his fist around it tightly. A few rough tugs makes sure he’s entirely interested and just as Ned moves to return the favour of undressing, the King spins him to face the tree. Ned braces himself against it, hearing fabric and leather and saliva. He tries to think; ponder what this all means and why the King is doing this, what it will mean for his future and whether Hal will refute his proclamation and allow Ned to join Court. He tries to think, but all the crosses his mind is Hal’s cool wet fingers probing against his entrance with a cautious confidence, of knowing what to do, but needs to be sure of consent. As the King, it is only his right to _take_ , but Ned chuckles silently to himself and keens backwards.

Hal’s free slender hand settles on his shoulder, keeping Ned steady as those fingers worm inside. Two at first, make Ned’s breath catch in his throat. He tries to quell pain by focusing on the cold outside, but the burn is ever-present. He’s taken two digits easily before, and rationalises what he feels must be on account of the time that had passed between them.

Hal presses an apologetic kiss to the nape of Ned’s neck, where black hair tapers to marble skin. The touch so soft, Ned tries to focus but loses all as the King curls his fingers. The pain is still there, but the edge is blunted by a burst of pleasure. A breath hisses through his teeth, clenched tightly and tighter still as Hal massages his prostate in gentle wave-like motions of his fingers. It assures all previous grievances are forgotten and soon, Ned presses harder against the King, his hips forming a motion that comes naturally.

Hearing the King smile, Ned presses his palms against the tree trunk in order to stand upright a little more. Hal immediately steps closer and moves the hand from Ned’s shoulder to the small of his back, pushing his jacket out of the way enough. The fingers inside keep on moving, spreading, making sure everything will be just right.

Ned groans, “Ah, Hal,”

He stills the second the King’s fingers do inside him. The change is sudden, the air now stark and he wonders what he had said wrong. Something changes just a little, and Hal leans over Ned’s back to say sternly in his ear, “I am _Henry_ , now, but,” he pauses, and Ned can hear a gentle curve upon his lips, “you can call me Harry, Sweet Ned.”

What’s the difference? Names are names, but he knows ‘Hal’ was always what Falstaff had said, and as such, Ned is glad to call the King by another name. Other than that, he doesn’t care. Hal – Harry, but it would take some getting used to, and the effort can’t be spared at the moment – starts to withdraw his hand, and Ned inhales deeply from anticipation and impatience.

His fingers curl against the rough bark as he fells the blunt, wet head of Hal’s cock against his entrance. It presses closer a few times, as if the King is testing, and Ned knows – even with preparation – his body has yet to reacclimatise to accommodating another.

A kiss is lavished to the back of his neck again; licking and sucking is barely enough to distract him as Hal gently rocks his hips, forcing his cock past the tight ring of muscle. Ned hisses in another breath, trying to relax; trying to remember back to how it had felt, happy on sack and on a straw mattress. He remembers vividly Hal pressed naked against his back, sweating from the summer heat and their vigour. It’s just enough to work and Hal slides his inches in smoothly.

They remain still for a while. Ned is torn between the moment and the past. A past where he knew where he stood with the King. The Prince’s best friend, trusted and adored… but now, a plaything for a morning of reminiscence? Blunt nails scrape the bark, catching and hurting, but he deserved as much. To be such a fool as to fall for the Prince! And to do so again, like suffering a wench’s affliction and forever destined to want and pine.

“Ned,” Hal whispers in his ear and slender hands stroke soothingly up and down Ned’s sides and hips. “Relax, please.”

He tries to, but his sharp mind refuses to yield. He’s halfway to distraction and can’t see a solution that wouldn’t be a kick to his dignity. Or a question whose answer he does not really want to hear.

“Just move, My Lord,”

Hal’s hands still in a moment of apprehension. It’s all the he needs to say.

“ _Please_ ,” Ned hisses through his teeth with a hint of bitterness.

Though the King complies, the initial withdraw is slow – slower than it really had to be – and Ned can’t help but think it felt like Hal was just going to pull out and disappear back to his castle. But almost the moment only the tip of Hal’s cock was inside him, he pressed forwards again until he was flush with Ned’s back, buried to the hilt in tight warmth.

That hesitant pace continued on for a few minutes, and Ned denied his mind the liberty to wander, to fret. There were sensations enough to soak up and enjoy. More than that gentle rock of their hips, Hal kept on kissing his shoulders, beard scraping an entirely new feeling – and one Ned rather decided he liked. How would that feel against his thighs?

A throaty moan spills forth and he hears Hal smirk, and is rewarded with a sharper, suddenly deeper thrust. Finally able to let go of anything inhibiting him, Ned pushes back against Hal and lowers his head. Hal grips his hips, directing movements as well as holding him still, and works his hips in increasingly quicker snaps. Nearly every one is a strike against Ned’s prostate, urging him ever nearer, and ever more frequent sounds to bubble from his throat.

They’re incomprehensible and nonsensical, and in a fleeting moment of lucidity, Ned hopes they stay that way. But as pressure builds and coils in his gut, he loses control of his mouth. The King’s names spill like persistent prayers and he grinds his hips backwards furiously. Another thrust and the pressure bursts, sweeping through Ned’s body and his seed splatters against the tree. Hal hovers over, biting into the exposed junction of Ned’s neck and shoulder as he follows suit, rocking a few more times until he’s too sensitised to continue.

Ned groans as Hal pulls out. He falls onto his hands for support, though his arms are weak and feel to be shaking, although visibly, they are not. As the cold morning lashes at his moist, bare flesh, Ned startles as a warm kiss is planted on the small of his back.

Almost tenderly, the King pulls Ned’s lower garments back into place. Ned turns and finishes the job. Hal remains still, smiling wistfully and watches. There’s a depth to his blue eyes that makes Ned make a quiet sound of question.

“Prove yourself reformed, my sweet Edward, and we shall see you in Court when I return from France.”

“France?” Ned echoes, frowning.

Hal grins, dressing himself quickly but presentably. He steps forward, pressing Ned against the tree again in a needless, but amusing, show of dominance. Such a thing had always been little more than a game between them. Although, when Hal was in the guise of King Henry, Ned was smart enough to know his place. But now, _this_ Hal was little more than the teenager playing his father again. He toys with the lapels of Ned’s jacket, looking him straight in the eye.

“Well, since I’m in the practice of reclaiming that which is rightfully mine…”

 


End file.
